Singularity
by CSO Spock
Summary: Harry Potter's life had never been normal. He didn't know why he had expected that to change. He knew that it should have been impossible, but in all honesty, there were a lot of things that had happen to Harry that he had not thought possible. Time Travel.
1. The Singularity

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic Corporation, and Warner Brothers.**

* * *

_Singularity__: 1. the state, fact, or quality of being singular; a peculiarity_

_2. a point in space-time in which matter and energy are infinitely compressed to infinitesimal volume; a blackhole_

* * *

_A red-gold glow burst suddenly across the enchanted sky above them as an edge of dazzling sun appeared over the sill of the nearest window. The light hit both of their faces at the same time, so that Voldemort's was suddenly a flaming blur. Harry heard the high voice shriek as he too yelled his best hope to the heavens, pointing Draco's wand:_

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

_"Expelliarmus!"_

_The bang was like a cannon blast, and the golden flames that erupted between them, at the dead center of the circle they had been treading, marked the point where the spells collided. Harry saw Voldemort's green jet meet his own spell, saw the Elder Wand fly high, dark against the sunrise, spinning across the enchanted ceiling like the head of Nagini, spinning through the air towards the master it would not kill, who had come to take full possession of it at last. And Harry, with the unerring skill of the Seeker, caught the wand, in his free hand as Voldemort fell backwards, arms splayed, the slit pupils of the scarlet eyes rolling upward. Tom Riddle hit the floor with a mundane finality, his body feeble and shrunken, the white hands empty, the snakelike face vacant and unknowing, and Harry stood with two wands in his hands, staring down at his enemy's_ _shell. (J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, The Flaw in the Plan) _

* * *

The golden flames created by the colliding spells remained in the air as the dead man fell. The magical energy emanating from the blindingly bright ball of flames was extremely powerful. More powerful than anything Harry had ever felt, magical or muggle. The flames suddenly flung out toward their source which were the two wands resting in Harry's hands. And in consuming the wands in his hands, the flames consumed the wands' master as well. Harry felt the magic, the energy from the golden flames rush over him and pull him inward. He felt an all consuming pressure on every part of his body. The flames that had consumed Harry then rushed back to the center where they had been born, carrying along Harry and his wands, and then shrunk into an infinitesimal size. The speck of light hovered in the hall for a moment before finally dissipating, leaving nothing but an empty space where something had once been.

* * *

Harry opened his eyes and immediately began taking inventory. He was staring at a clear morning sky. He felt the cool of the air and the damp ground against his back. He was alive, and for that moment, it was all that mattered. He closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, and simply laid on the ground.

It was while he was laying there on the ground that the realization struck him. Tom Riddle was dead. He had killed Lord Voldemort. He had avenged them all. His parents, Sirius, Dumbledore, Fred, Lupin, Tonks. He had avenged their deaths. He had fulfilled the prophecy and was free to do as he pleased.

But what did he want?

He had never really planned this far ahead because until recently there had not been a future for him to plan. He had never actually expected to survive this war. Since the day he was born, he had been fighting against Voldemort. Every plan he had ever made for the future had been about how to stop Voldemort. Now, he was lying on the ground, he was not certain as to where, and Voldemort was dead. In all honesty, he was at a loss. What was he to do now?

He stayed there on the ground for a time. Whether that time was long or short, he was not quite sure. Lost in his thoughts, he had lost track of time. Eventually he decided that he had laid on the ground for long enough. As much as he enjoyed laying there and letting his mind wander, he had things to do, responsibilities that demanded his attention.

He slowly stood up and as he did so, he winced. The past several days, the past several months, had not been easy and the pain shooting through his muscles was a testament to that adversity.

He pulled out his want to cast the Tempus charm, but before he could determine the time, he was stopped short. For a moment, he stared at the wand in shock. He had forgotten that he was master of the Elder Wand. It was disconcerting to say the least. He shook his head and decided that he would put the wand back where it belonged at the first opportunity. He most certainly did not want the wand. It was much more trouble than it was worth and he had had enough trouble for a lifetime. With a rueful smile and a slight shake of his head, he casted the Tempus charm. And then promptly dropped the wand from his hand and stumbled back.

The date and time revealed to the Master of Death was that of 7:43 am 7 July 1977.

7th of July in 1977. He thought that he must have casted the spell wrong. He lifted the Elder Wand and casted the spell again. The second cast yielded the same result. _Perhaps something went wrong with the Elder Wand when Riddle's last curse rebounded. Maybe a different wand will work,_ he thought.

He picked up the wand that he had taken from Draco Malfoy and performed the charm for a third time. 7 July 1977.

_What is going on? This must be a bad joke,_ he thought. But he could not help but remember that he and Hermione had once travelled back in time. But they had only gone back a couple of hours! This was a couple of decades! It could not be possible. But in all honesty, there were a lot of things that had happen to Harry that he had not thought possible. Becoming a wizard, for example. Or defeating Voldemort. Or surviving the war. Sometimes he thought he might believe in six impossible things before breakfast! Was it really so difficult to believe that he might actually be back in 1977?

_It would be just my luck_, he thought. And it would indeed be just Harry's luck to have finally defeated Voldemort, only to be sent back to the height of the Dark Lord's reign and be unable to do anything lest he destroy the timeline.

Harry closed his eyes and shook his head. He knew he needed to stay calm so he could think. If he really was back in time, he had several huge decisions to make and several important questions to answer.

Could he tell anyone? And if he could, who? Could he change the timeline? Did he _want_ to change the timeline? And the most important question: How was he going to get back? (_If it's even possible to get back_, he thought.)

These questions flooded his brain, one question running into his mind right after another. And he had no answers to the questions. His distress grew greater in greater until he was in a near panic state.

If he were where, or rather, when, he was supposed to be, he would have immediately gone to Hermione. But he was not when he was supposed to be and he could not ask Hermione because she was not there. In fact, she was yet to be born.

That made him pause. Hermione was not born yet. And neither was Ron. Even he himself was not born yet. Harry was lost. Completely and utterly lost. He was once again up against the world, except this time he really was alone. There was no one there to help him. Not even his best friends. It was only recently that he had uncovered the revelation that he could not do it alone, that it was okay to ask for help. And then he was thrown back in time to do just that. Fight it alone.

He must have done something horrible in a past life to be treated this way by fate.

He put his head in his hands and took a deep breath. He needed to calm down. Working himself up would not help the situation. He needed to do something productive, so he began taking inventory of all the things that had been sent back in time with him. The Elder Wand and Draco Malfoy's former wand had both been sent back with him, as were the clothes he was wearing, Fabian Prewett's old watch, and his cloak, or rather, Ignotus Peverell's Cloak. The moleskin pouch that Hagrid had given him for his 17th birthday was still hanging around his neck.

He pulled of the pouch, opened it, and poured out its contents. The two pieces of his Holly wand fell out, followed by the Golden Snitch, the Marauders' Map, the DA Galleon, a chocolate frog, a 3/4 full bottle of Firewhiskey, and several candies from a Skiving Snackbox. After turning out his pockets, 2 galleons, 9 sickles, and a knut had been added to the pile.

_What to do?_ he thought.

He knew he could not stay in the Wizarding World. He looked far too much like a Potter not to raise suspicions. Times were tough in 1977, what with Voldemort and his merry band of murderers gallivanting the country. A strange new arrival garnered enough attention without looking like a long-lost member of a prominent pureblood family.

So it was to the muggle world he would go. At least until he decided what to do about his situation. He would remain inconspicuously in London. He would blend into the crowd and hide away until he made his decision. He gathered up everything he had pulled from his pockets while taking inventory and put it away. He raised his wand and checked the date for one final time before finally apparating away.


	2. The Event Horizon

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic Corporation, and Warner Brothers.**

* * *

_Singularity__: 1. the state, fact, or quality of being singular; a peculiarity_

_2. a point in space-time in which matter and energy are infinitely compressed to infinitesimal volume; a blackhole_

* * *

_Event Horizon: 1. the boundary at which gravitational pull becomes so strong that escape is impossible _

_2. a point of no return_

* * *

When he reappeared after apparating from the field, Harry was in London in the same alleyway that Hermione had brought him and Ron to nearly a year before (or rather twenty years from then). He stepped out of the alley on to the street. He chose a direction and began to walk. As he walked, he garnered many strange looks. It made him slightly paranoid. Though he had practice ignoring strangers that stared at him, he knew that no one should be staring at him in this time. He was just another man walking along the road, not famous or infamous. He was just Harry here. But people were still staring at him. And it was making him nervous.

He looked down to examine himself and realized what had been attracting the attention. He was wearing torn and bloody clothes from the Battle of Hogwarts.

He quickly dipped into another alley and mended and cleaned his clothes with magic. When he finished and walked back onto the street, he had no trouble blending with the crowds.

He walked aimlessly for several hours, trying to decide where to go. He did not have enough muggle money to rent a room and he would not risk going into Gringotts. He figured his best choice was to camp out in an alley and cast a few charms for protection. It was not as if he did not know had to camp. He, Hermione, and Ron had been doing just that for the several months prior.

While he was looking for an acceptable alley way, he came across a man in a top hat, an outrageous vest, and a tail coat. As he got closer to the man, the man turned to him and said, "Pick a card, any card," as he waved a deck of cards in front Harry.

Harry paused for a moment, and the magician said, "Aw, come on now. Don' be a Joanie. Jus' pick one."

Amused at the 'Magician', Harry picked a card.

"Memorized the card yet?" the magician asked.

"Yep," Harry replied. _The King of Hearts. A bit ironic_, Harry thought, _I'm __the boy whose power the Dark Lord knew not was love and now I happen to pick the King of Hearts._

"Well, all right, then. Put it back," the magician ordered.

Harry placed the card back in the deck.

The magician shuffled the cards, handed them to Harry and had Harry shuffle them. He then threw the deck on the ground and the only card that landed face up was the King of Hearts.

Harry was slightly impressed.

"And there's your card, man. You dig it? That's far out, ain't it, cat?" the magician said.

Harry merely nodded and continued on his way. Until he stopped short. He could do tricks much more impressive than that muggle 'magician'. _Now there's an idea_, he thought.

* * *

On his fourth day in London, Harry found a tea shop (Sheena & Kripali's Tea Emporium) that was looking for someone to clean up and close the shop every evening. Harry, who was an expert at cleaning and was desperate for money, was the perfect man for the job. The Gupta sisters offered to pay him £10 per day if they could pay him off the books. This agreement was better than Harry could have dreamed of because he had no documents to recommend him for a legitimate job, so an off the books job was his only option. Harry agreed to the terms and had been working at the tea shop every day of the week for the past three weeks.

Harry had been living in muggle London for nearly four weeks. For the first few days he lived as a vagabond. During the day, he performed 'magic tricks' on street corners for spare change and at night he would transfigure a blanket, cast an Impervius charm, a Warming charm, and a notice-me-not while hiding out in an alley to sleep. He was pleased. When he did magic tricks on the corner, he would get few fifty pence pieces, a couple of quid, and the occasional fiver. Then he'd go to the shop and get another ten quid. Harry now had a place to sleep and enough money to scrape by. This, however, did not change the fact that he was twenty-one years into the past with no friends or allies.

After the first week, he had given up hope that this adventure was just a hallucination, and after two weeks, he had accepted that it was not an elaborate scheme plotted by the Death Eaters to disorient him. After the third week, he acknowledged that he was in fact back in 1977, and now, in his fourth week, he had finally resigned himself to the horrible truth that if he was going to go back (or forwards) to his own time, he would have to tell someone because he knew he was incapable of solving the problem on his own.

His problem now was figuring out a way to travel forwards in time besides waiting for the time to pass naturally. He knew that he would never be capable of figuring out how to on his own, so he needed to tell someone in this time about his situation. But who in this time could he trust? One name immediately came to mind: Albus Dumbledore.

But could he trust Dumbledore not to meddle in time with the information he would be given? Dumbledore himself had told Harry that he was easily corrupted by power. And what is knowledge of the future if not power?

Unfortunately, he had no other choice. It was a risk he was going to have to take. Dumbledore was the only man in this time that he knew for certain he could trust to both help him and not send him to the Department of Mysteries or the long term patient ward at St. Mungo's.

But if he was going to tell anyone in the Wizarding World, even Dumbledore, he was going to need a disguise. He looked far too much like a Potter to not draw attention.

So Harry walked to the drug store on the corner of his block and bought a bottle of hair bleach. Though he feared that the blonde hair might make him look like a Malfoy, his options were limited. He walked back to his cheap flat and carried his purchase to the bath. He carefully read the instructions on the label and followed them to the letter.

An hour later, Harry Potter was a blonde.

He stared at his face in the mirror, contemplating. He did not look like a Malfoy in the slightest, which surprised him. He figured a characteristic as defining as bleach blonde hair would draw immediate parallels, but he still looked like Harry Potter. He needed something more. Something about him still screamed 'Harry Potter' and he could not for the life of him figure out what it was.

He shook his head, giving up trying to determine what it was, and walked over to the cheap mattress lying on the floor. He sat down on the mattress and pulled the moleskin pouch out from under his white t-shirt.

The pouch reminded him of Hagrid. It reminded him of his seventeenth birthday, the last happy event he had to remember his friends by. It reminded him of his eleventh birthday when he and his relatives had been hiding on that godforsaken island. It reminded him of when Hagrid broke down the door and introduced him to a whole new world. That memory in particular had become very dear to him in the past few weeks. He had, once again, been taken from everything he had ever known and brought to a new world. He remembered that day very well. It was the first time that he had been told, "You have your mother's eyes."

_I have my mother's eyes_, he thought as an epiphany hit him.

That was it. That was the thing that screamed 'Harry Potter' about him. His green eyes and his circular wire-framed glasses were two of his most defining characteristics. He needed to get rid of his glasses and change the color of his eyes. His immediate thought went to contacts. But he had no idea if contacts had even been invented yet. It would cause quite a bit of trouble if he were to walk into the optometrist's office and ask for something that did not yet exist.

Harry looked to the watch on his wrist. It was nearly time for him to go down to the shop and clean up. He would have to worry about finding contact lenses another time.

* * *

Five days later, on the 10th of August, Harry Potter was walking back from the optometrist's without glasses and with blue-green eyes. Contact lenses had indeed been invented before 1977. Unfortunately, they were hard contacts made of glass and had a tendency it dry quite quickly, but Harry wouldn't complain. A simple lubricating charm quickly solved the problem.

As he was walking, he was thinking, as he was prone to do. He could now go into the wizarding world without raising too much suspicion. He knew his first foray into the wizarding world would be a meeting with Albus Dumbledore, but he was unsure of how to contact the man. As a man of great importance, Dumbledore probably received dozens of requests for meetings per day. Harry had yet to figure out how to gain Dumbledore's intrigue.

The irony did not escape Harry that just as he had finished hiding out from Voldemort, he had been forced to go into hiding again. And this time, he was hiding from the entire Wizarding World instead of just Voldemort and his army.

Harry was distracted from his thoughts by rain. It was not at all unusual for it to rain. He was, after all, in London. But this particular downpour was torrential and he needed to get indoors to avoid being completely drowned in rain.

He entered the first building he saw, which happened to be a lecture hall at Imperial College London. The board posted next to the entrance to the hall read:

Stephen Hawking

10 August 1977

10:30 to 12:00

The Penrose-Hawking Singularity Theorem

Harry looked to his watch. 11:00. He shrugged and walked through the door. The hall was packed to the brim to hear the world-renown physicist's lecture. There was an empty seat several rows into the auditorium. Harry sat and turned his attention to the man. Harry had heard of Stephen Hawking before. He knew that the man was a physicist of some sort. Hermione had talked about the man almost reverently. A wistful smile crossed his face as he thought about Hermione. He missed his friends. During his time on the run, he had grown used to missing people, but he had always had Hermione and Ron. Now he was missing everyone. He had no one in this time. He handled the loneliness well for the most part, but every so often the loneliness would strike him unexpectedly.

He remembered sitting with Hermione in the tent on one of those days that seemed to drag on for years. He had annoyed Hermione so much with his sighing that she threw one of her books at him and Harry, who was so tired of being bored, actually read the book. When Hermione turned to him 20 minutes later her jaw almost hit the floor from the shock of seeing Harry reading a muggle history book.

Harry had found the book quite interesting and extremely relatable. _The Second World War _was the title of the book. Because he had been raised in the muggle world, he had already known some about the war, but he learned so much more from the book. It astonished him how similar World War II was to the war he was fighting against Voldemort. The parallels were uncanny. The appeasement of the governments to the aggressor, the bigotry at the foundation of the war, the charismatic-but-deranged leader of the aggression, the devoted army of followers the leader possessed.

If anything, the muggle war was worse than the war against Voldemort. The muggles lost an unbelievable number of people in the war. Nearly 70,000,000 dead. Harry's war had not killed anywhere near as many people. And besides the death toll, the muggles developed weapons of mass destruction. Incendiary bombs, atomic bombs, and lethal gases which could kill people by the thousands.

After reading up on World War II, Harry began to ask Hermione for more and more of her books. He even got around to reading _Hogwarts, A History: the Unabridged Version _which had flown from Dumbledore's office with the horcrux books at the end of sixth year. Hermione had said that it was the most extensive version of the book she had ever seen.

Harry picked up many interests while on the search for horcruxes. He studied muggle history, chemistry, and even Ancient Runes. Harry had a natural affinity for Ancient Runes, he discovered. Hermione postulated that his natural affinity had something to do with his close relationship with his magic which had saved his life a myriad of times. She thought that his relationship with his magic allowed for an instinctive understanding of its application.

Something Dr. Hawking said commanded Harry's attention and took him from his thoughts.

"Because of general relativity, we know that gravity bends space, and therefore, time. Using the Singularity theorem, we can determine that a time-like singularity can work backwards in time by bending space-time with immense gravity."

_Backwards in time?_

A hope grew inside Harry that it might actually be possible for him to return to his own time. If muggles were capable of time travel, he would not even need to go into the Wizarding World. He would be able to go back to Hermione and Ron. He could go back to Ginny. He could see Neville and Luna and McGonagall and all the Weasley's. He could see everyone who he cared about again. Muggle science might be able to send him back home. (In the back of his mind, Harry thought that it would be the ultimate irony for the Savior of the Wizarding World to be rescued by Muggle technology.)

Harry's rising excitement was quashed by what he next heard Dr. Hawking say.

"Though we understand the physics of singularities, we are not doing experimental study, nor, I think, will we ever. It is all completely theoretical and will remain so for the foreseeable future. We are simply incapable of controlling something with that much energy, with that much power. And even if we were capable of controlling such energy, we still would not be able to create a singularity unless we fully understood the nature of an atom. The fusion involved requires a complete quantum theory. And Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle tells us that we never will understand everything about a physical object," the physicist explained.

The muggles could not create a time machine. He should have known that. If muggles had invented a time machine anytime between 1977 and 1998, he'd have known about it because he was (or would be) alive to have heard (or hear) about it. An errant thought passed through his head that all of these verb tenses were starting to confuse him. But the majority of his mind was distracted by the rush of hopelessness he felt.

If the muggles cannot get him back and wizards cannot get him back, then he resigned himself to the fact that he could not go back. Muggles are not able to create a time machine because they cannot control the energy. Wizards rarely use time travel because they do not understand how to do it; it is mysterious.

As he sat there, drowning in sadness, he was hit by a startling realization.

If he combined muggle time-travel principles with wizarding energy control principles, it might be possible. Muggles understood the mechanics of time-travel and wizards understood the energy control. Because what is a spell if not controlled, directed, purposeful energy?

He was elated. He could hardly control himself. He had a plan. Something tangible. Something to cling to. A had weight lifted from his shoulders, a weight that he had not known he was carrying. He knew what he had to do now. The only problem was how to do it. All he knew was the first step, which was, for the moment, enough. He needed to find Albus Dumbledore.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore was happily humming to himself in his office. He did love the month of August. He loved preparing for all the young minds soon to enter the walls of his school. Summer was his least favorite time of year, if only for the fact that he missed the ever constant stream of voices and laughter emanating from the classes and halls of his school. He was absentmindedly stroking the soft feathers on Fawkes' head when the magnificent bird raised his head and disappeared in a whirl of flames.

The headmaster stared at the perch where the phoenix had been resting in surprise. The surprise soon gave way to alarm. Fawkes rarely used fire to travel. Fawkes preferred to fly. He loved to soar though the air. He only used fire travel when he there was an emergency. So what was he doing? What was going on?

His questions were soon answered as Fawkes reappeared in another whoosh of flames. In his beak was a note that he dropped on the headmaster's desk.

The professor picked up the note and stared at it in confusion. It was written on muggle paper instead of parchment. With a shake of his head, he ignored his bubbling curiosity for the moment. The content of the letter was far more important that what it was written on. As he read, his curiosity only grew.

_Professor Dumbledore,_

_I'm terribly sorry if I scared you by calling Fawkes. I didn't mean to worry you on purpose. I summoned Fawkes because I really need to speak with you and having Fawkes deliver the letter was the only way I could think of to make sure that you read it._

_I need your help. I know this is odd coming from a stranger. Even worse than a stranger, someone who didn't even have the courtesy to introduce themself in the introduction of a letter he wrote to someone who views him as a stranger. I know that in times like these it's difficult to trust someone you've never met, but I hope that Fawkes' trust in me is enough to make you believe me. I am sure that I'm not the only person who has asked for your help, what with Voldemort around and all, but I have no one else to turn to and you are my only hope. _

_I cannot tell you much about myself, and what I tell you, I will only tell you in person, to prevent the information from falling into the wrong hands. Please be satisfied that your phoenix believes me to be a good man because I cannot tell you anything more._

_I would like to meet with you, so that I can tell you more. If you can (and are willing to), please meet me for lunch tomorrow at Sheena and Kripali's Tea Emporium in London at noon. If you cannot meet then, I ask that you send Fawkes back with a time and place you can meet me. If you will not meet, then I am sorry, sir, for having wasted your time._

_Sincerely,_

_a friend_

_P.S. I will make sure to have raspberry jam on the table. Also, your tea will be served with lemon and four lumps of sugar._

After he read the letter, he read it again. And then he read it a third time for good measure. After the third reading, the professor sat back in his chair. He turned to Fawkes and the phoenix merely stared back at him. He looked away from the bird and pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill.

"It appears that I'll be rescheduling my meeting with the minister. This letter has made me far too curious to postpone a meeting with this stranger," he told Fawkes as he began composing a letter to the Minister for Magic.


	3. The Gravitational Collapse

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic Corporation, and Warner Brothers.**

* * *

_Singularity__: 1. the state, fact, or quality of being singular; a peculiarity_

_2. a point in space-time in which matter and energy are infinitely compressed to infinitesimal volume; a blackhole_

* * *

_Gravitational Collapse: 1. the inward fall of a body due to the pull of its own gravity_

_2. a temporary state of instability prior to the metamorphosis of a body_

* * *

"You are quite young. Much younger than I imagined you would be," Professor Dumbledore observed to Harry in a light voice.

The headmaster had barely slept the night before. After sending his regrets to the minister, he sat by the fire and considered the meeting he would be attending the next day. Hours later, when he tried to fall asleep, his mind was too full of questions to rest and he was brimming with curiosity. His imagination ran rampant and he simply could not calm down enough to fall asleep. So he stayed up all night wondering what the meeting would bring.

The two men had been sitting at a table outside of Sheena and Kripali's Tea Emporium for several minutes in a comfortable silence. These two men were so very alike, though neither man recognized how much he was like the other. They were both brave and wise. Each man had known great loss and pain. Both had led wars and dueled dark lords. Both of them had the rare ability to maintain hope and optimism through the bleakest of times. And both men were content to simply examine each other while they sat drinking tea.

"Yes. I'm seventeen," Harry explained.

_Seventeen,_ Dumbledore thought. Yes, he could easily believe that. The young man had a slightly boyish face and a thin, lanky frame. But there was a hardness, a sadness in his eyes. A sadness that spoke of a harsh life and a brave soul. It aged the boy greatly. It broke the professor's heart that one so young had known such pain.

"I'll be eighteen in a month," the young man added.

Dumbledore took a sip of tea from his cup.

"And, if I may ask, what is your name?" the professor replied.

The teenager's eyes widened and he said, "Oh! I forgot to tell you my name. Sorry. It's Harry."

"Harry...?" Dumbledore retorted, in askance of a surname.

"Just Harry," the young man said with a smile on his face.

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, dear boy. I'd introduce myself, Harry, but I find that it might, I think, be unnecessary. You seem quite aware of who I am," the headmaster said with twinkling eyes.

Harry gave a slight, knowing smile and said, "Yes, I know who you are, professor."

"You are not a student of mine," the professor stated as he raised an inquisitive eyebrow, with the implicit question clear.

"No. I'm not. At least not anymore. Or rather not yet," Harry stated jovially.

A look of confusion crossed the older man's face. Harry gave a slight smile at the sight of it.

Harry reveled for a moment in the look of discomfort that crossed the professor's face. It was not often that the headmaster was the less informed party in a discussion. Harry thought it was a nice change of pace for the man to be forced to scavenge all the information he could from veiled phrases that held hidden meanings. He held no ill will for the man, but the temptation to confuse the master of ambiguity was too great for the teenager to resist.

"I'm afraid I don't understand your meaning, dear boy," said the professor.

"Well, I'm not from here," he replied.

"And where is it that you are from?" the professor asked.

"It's not so much a where I am from as it is a _when_ I am from," the young man retorted.

"I'm afraid I still do not understand what you mean, dear boy," Dumbledore informed the young man.

"Ah," Harry said. "Then I'll speak more plainly. I've been sent back in time against my will and I need your help to try to figure out how to get back home."

A look of shock crossed Professor Dumbledore's face. It was not often that he was taken by surprise and this boy had managed to shock him two times in just as many days. This Harry was certainly a peculiar young man.

Harry's eyes lit up with silent laughter at the look on his professor's face. At the sight of the young man's silent laughter, Dumbledore's eyes began to twinkle brightly. The mischief in the boy's eyes brightened them and made him look much more like a seventeen year old boy should.

He liked this young man, Dumbledore decided. The professor had discovered that the young man was very easy to like. Harry was clearly a mischievious young man. But that was not the thing that drew Dumbledore towards the boy.

It was the kindness and goodness that the boy radiated. His geniality. The young man seemed to possess a rare type of optimism. It was not a naïve optimism, but an optimism that had survived hardship and known great pain. An optimism bred of experience and wisdom and inspired great hope. He had never known anyone, other than himself, that had maintained their faith through such pain as he had known until just this morning. It was very refreshing. And it drew him to the young man.

Though the young man's statement was nearly unbelievable, Dumbledore did not doubt its veracity for a moment. Harry was from the future. He could see the truth in the boy's eyes. And though the boy was clearly having a laugh, it was evident that he was somewhat troubled by his trip. There was a resilience in the boy, though. The young man was clearly a man of dedication and bravery. He would not let the apparent hopelessness of the situation keep him from making an attempt to solve the problem.

"You seem to be quite calm about this," Dumbledore could not help but observe.

Harry shrugged in response and his cavalier attitude revealed much about the boy.

"I try not to let these sorts of things trouble me too much, professor. The world keeps moving and if you don't move with it, it'll drag you along anyways. I've come to realize that it's best just to go with it," Harry told his professor.

"That sounds like a statement learned from experience. You must have a knack for trouble,then," he told the boy with a slight smile and a twinkle in his eyes.

The boy smiled back. Dumbledore was glad to see that the boy could see the funny side of things in life. Harry was able to see the ridiculousness of his situation and laugh at it. Dumbledore loved a man that could smile in trouble, that could gather strength from distress and grow. And Harry was clearly one of those rare men. He was liking this young man more and more.

"Yes, professor. I would say that sums me up pretty well. A magnet for trouble," Harry said.

The two men sat in a genial silence for several minutes, considering the situation and enjoying the company and the tea.

"So you want me to help you get back to your own time?" the professor asked.

"Yes, sir," Harry said.

"And when is that time, may I ask?" Dumbledore could not resist asking.

Harry gave Dumbledore a considering look and then said, "I don't think it would be wise to tell you that, Professor. It would make meddling with things far too easy."

Dumbledore considered Harry's statement for a moment before nodding in acquiescence.

"Of course, you're right, dear boy. I shouldn't have asked. It was terribly rude of me," he assured the boy.

Harry nodded absentmindedly in response.

"Why me?" the headmaster asked.

"I had a number of reasons. The first is that you're completely brilliant. Also, because you're the most powerful wizard of the time. Because I knew you wouldn't ship me off to St. Mungo's for a mental health exam or the Department of Mysteries for an interrogation. Because you have complete access to one of the most extensive magical libraries in the world," Harry paused there and then, almost reluctantly, added, "And because I believe you to be an honorable man."

Dumbledore paused. The boy's trust in him was stirring. Despite having just met the child, he felt a connection with the young man. And the young man's faith bolstered him. It made him want to earn that trust. It made him want to be the good man the boy believed him to be.

"I'll do everything in my power to help you, Harry," Dumbledore said sincerely.

"Thank you, professor. You have no idea what this means to me," Harry said soberly.

They two wizards resumed their intense silence. Both were considering the ramifications of the agreement they had just made. The professor was observing the patrons of the tea shop and Harry was observing the professor. Harry broke the peace.

"If I may make a request, professor?" Harry asked.

"Of course! Anything, my boy," the headmaster retorted.

"I want you to tell Minerva McGonagall what I've told you today," he said.

Professor Dumbledore was perplexed.

"You wish me to share this with Minerva?" he asked in confusion.

Harry replied with a simple, "Yes."

"May I inquire as to the reason?" Dumbledore posed.

Harry sat quietly in consideration for a moment before answering the professor's question.

"There was a president from across the pond named Abraham Lincoln. He said something that... that was so right. He said, 'You can fool some of the people all of the time and you can fool all of the people some of the time, but you can never fool all of the people all of the time,'" he said and then after a short pause continued.

"You can't keep a secret from everyone, professor. Especially a secret this big. Everyone needs someone to confide in. Even you. Secrets weigh you down. Walking around with the weight of the world on your shoulders will wear you out eventually, professor. Trust me. I know. And besides that, McGonagall is an absolutely brilliant witch so she might be able to help us. I know that I would trust her. And if you don't trust her, then you really don't trust anyone, sir," he ended.

Dumbledore gave his head a slight tilt and looked at the young man. Really, truly examined him. And as he did, he noticed several things about the boy that he had not already catalogued. The man was covered in old scars and wounds. A lightning bolt on his forehead, a scar across his cheek, a burn around his neck, a long slice on his forearm, words carved into the back of his hand. There were scars all over the man.

_This boy is a warrior,_ Dumbledore thought. And that realization explained much about the boy- no, man. His hard eyes, his calm demeanor, his vigilance, his wisdom. And suddenly, Dumbledore felt much more like the old man he was. _This seventeen year old is a battle-hardened veteran. An experienced fighter,_ he thought. It broke his heart.

It was then at that moment that Albus Dumbledore decided that he would do everything in his ability to help this man.

So he nodded his head and agreed to tell Minerva about his situation. Harry gave a contented smile and leaned back in his chair, watching the people walk by.

"Just out of curiosity, how do you know that Minerva and I are so close? I wouldn't have thought that our friendship would be common knowledge in the future. It seems like an unimportant fact. Hisotrically, I mean," Dumbledore posed to Harry.

"You and McGonagall are two of the most well known heads of Hogwarts. And also, when I am from, there is a war. A horrible war. And when a war like that is going on, military history becomes something of a point of interest for a lot of people. Your exploits together against Grindlewald are a keystone of the fight against of dark wizardry," Harry retorted.

"So Minerva finally gets the recognition she deserves for her role in the war?" Dumbledore asked with piqued interest.

"Not quite. I read _Hogwarts, A History: the Unabridged Version, _and that was how I first learned about McGonagall being a spy during the war. Plus, I know muggle history as well. McGonagall's better known in the muggle world for being a spy in Grindlewald's camp," he explained.

"The muggles know about Grindlewald?" the headmaster replied with alarm..

"Of course they do. You can't hide that amout of destruction from the muggle world. They just don't know that he was a wizard. They think he was one of Hitler's closest lieutenants. And you are credited with taking him down, but McGonagall's known for being a spy for the Allies in the Reich and the muggle femenists love her 'cause she's one of the only historical female war heroes," Harry informed the headmaster.

Dumblerdore stared in shock. He knew of Minerva's bravery. She was Gryffindor through and through. He had known that fact since the first time he saw her in her first year, when she sat on the stool with the Sorting Hat on her head and became the first of the McGonagall Clan to placed in a house other than Slytherin. He had stood back to back with her in battle and seen her fight more fiercely than any Auror or soldier he'd ever known. He knew of her bravery. But he had no idea that anyone else had discovered it in her.

"She's probably even better known than you in some parts of the world, I'd venture to say," Harry added.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow in question.

"In France, her help in the cleanup post-Grindlewald earned her the Légion d'Honneur, the Croix de guerre palme en vermeil, and the Ordre de la Libération. She's a hero in France. And she earned a German decoration as well, but I can't remember what it was. My German is not as good as my French," Harry said.

"She earned the Großes Verdienstkreuz mit Stern in Germany. We both got our crosses at the same ceremony," Dumbledore inserted.

Harry nodded absentmindedly and added, "It's only in Britain that people think she is just a harmless school teacher. Or at least, when I'm from."

They resumed a silence.

"Would you like to come with me to Hogwarts?" Dumbledore asked spontaneously.

Harry raised an eyebrow at the headmaster.

"If you are looking to research magical time-travel, there is no library better in all of Britain than the library at Hogwarts," the professor added.

Harry mulled the idea over. The professor was right. Hogwarts did have the greatest library in all of Great Britain. And there was no place he felt more at home in than the castle. But he was not sure whether or not he could stay in the castle without being reminded of the battle. About Fred. About Remus. About Tonks. About Colin. About everyone he had left in his time. Was he strong enough to handle it?

Harry mulled the idea over in his head. As he thought Dumbledore stared at him and would not look away. Harry glanced up at the headmaster and stiffened his shoulders. He nodded.

"I would, professor. I'd like to go to Hogwarts," was all Harry said.

With a half-smile, Dumbledore stood from the table and said, "Then let us embark on the flighty temptress we call adventure."

Harry gave a wistful smile at the headmaster's statement. He recalled that the man would make the same comment to him nearly twenty years later. Harry then stood, following Dumbledore's example. He reached into his pocket and grabbed enough money to pay the bill. He laid it on the table and gave a slight smile to the headmaster. The headmaster smiled in return and he led them down the road until they came to an empty alley.

"This will do, I think," Dumbledore said to Harry.

"Will we be apparating?" Harry asked.

"Side-long, if you don't consider it bothersome," the professor retorted.

"Not at all," Harry replied.

Professor Dumbledore gently grabbed Harry's arm and with a quiet pop, they disappeared.


End file.
